


Need Tea

by Black_Crystal_Dragon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Tea, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:50:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Crystal_Dragon/pseuds/Black_Crystal_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is in need of tea, but John’s at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need Tea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ice_Elf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ice_Elf/gifts).



> Set probably during S1, but any time before The Reichenbach Fall works.

Need tea.  
-S

MAKE YOUR OWN

 

Ah. Sherlock glanced at the clock, then at the window, and mentally made a note of the date. John had been at work for approximately three hours; he was working the morning shift at the surgery on a cold and drizzly November Monday. There was a high probability that he had seen more than his fair share of work-shy employees looking for doctor’s notes and overprotective parents with sniffling children, and far too few people actually requiring medical attention more advanced than a Lemsip.

That explained the all-caps. He tapped out a quick message and hit send.

 

Busy.  
-S

DOING WHAT?

 

John seriously doubted that Sherlock was actually busy. He checked the time in the corner of his computer screen – 11.17, Sherlock probably wasn’t even dressed yet – and pressed the button that would call his next patient in. Silently, he hoped for someone who didn’t have a cold they were trying to pass off as the plague.

 

Thinking.  
-S

THINKING IS NOT  
A VALID EXCUSE  
SHERLOCK

 

Sherlock started to smile. A challenge, then.

He knew John got a break for lunch at noon, and he suspected – no, he could _deduce_ , from both the foul mood and the tendency John had to drop everything if there was a promise of excitement, of danger – that he could persuade him to simply not go back. He had a case from Lestrade, which looked like it was a five at best, but it would kill an otherwise empty afternoon, and all the better if John was there with him. Which he would be, if Sherlock could just get him back to the flat in the first place.

 

Thinking about a case.  
-S

GOOD FOR YOU

 

John hated it when Sherlock texted him about cases at work. He knew what he was supposed to do at this point. To hell with the patients who would have to face even longer waiting times, and the other doctors who would have to pick up the slack – he was supposed to be out of the door and in a taxi back to Baker Street.

That wasn’t going to happen. Not this time. No matter how tedious it was dealing with medical complaints no more serious than, worst case scenario, the flu.

 

It’s quite complex. I  
don’t want to break my  
concentration.  
-S

Ask Mrs Hudson

 

Still no punctuation, but John had switched from all capitals, which Sherlock knew to be a good sign. Even better, he was no longer suggesting that Sherlock get his own tea. He was cracking.

He settled back in his chair and stared into space, to give John time to get rid of his next patient. Besides, he had to pitch the next text exactly right. If he didn’t, he risked blowing his cover and sending John back into to capslock. He traced his thumb over the Blackberry’s keys. It would be easier by far to know what to say if he could hear John’s voice. Text messages were just that: text; flat and emotionless, voided of the baggage of tone and emotion. Certain things could be inferred, if one knew the sender, but it was difficult to catch more than the broadest strokes of feeling.

It was why they were his preferred method of communication. But he could admit – to himself – that they had their drawbacks.

 

She’s not our  
housekeeper, John.  
-S

Oh so you do sometimes  
pay attention to what  
people say

 

John couldn’t help but smile to himself. He could hear Sherlock’s voice saying the words, carefully constructed sarcasm blending with sincerity. She said it often enough that ‘not a housekeeper’ was a kind of in-joke these days, something that made the two of them smile, if only inwardly. His hand hovered over the button that would buzz his next patient in as he waited a few extra seconds for Sherlock’s reply.

His phone vibrated briefly in his palm and his smile widened as he thumbed the screen to bring up the message.

 

On occasion. Come to  
Baker St. – I can’t  
complete this case  
without you.  
-S

I’m working, Sherlock.  
Sorry.

 

It had been a risk, playing that particular hand at this point in the game – but a risk that had paid off. Sherlock stared at the text John had sent. Instant reply; punctuation; full sentences; an _apology_. The shift in style alone would have told Sherlock that John wanted to leave the surgery behind in favour of a case. The apology, though, meant that he felt guilty for not being available to help. It was more than he could have hoped for.

He paused, thinking about what to say next. John would be with another patient by now, which meant he had time to consider. Keeping John’s interest without giving the game away, telling him enough to get him to come back while leaving the case as vague and nebulous as possible – that was the trick.

 

John, I need you.

To make the tea?  
Sorry, Sherlock.

 

Sherlock had left off his customary signature this time, which made John pause when he noticed the difference. It felt as though some level of formality had been dropped, and made the request somehow more personal.

He couldn’t help but wonder what Sherlock needed him for. He had opened the conversation with a request for tea, after all, so it could be something as mundane as that. He had been called out of work for less before now. Then again, Sherlock might be in need of backup, another person to take into a dangerous situation because he was too stubborn or impatient or stupid to wait for the police to get a team together.

 

No. There is a missing  
person. Your presence  
is critical to ensuring a  
positive outcome, but I  
can try to fix the  
situation alone, if you’re  
too busy.

Will be home in 10mins.  
DO NOT go anywhere  
until I get back. I mean  
it, Sherlock.

 

Sherlock smirked and glanced at the clock. It was just shy of twelve o’clock, and John was clearly on his way out of the surgery early. He did feel mildly guilty for playing on John’s concern for him, but it was short-lived. He was, after all, recuing John from an afternoon of monotony. He laced his fingers together and closed his eyes to listen for the sound of the front door.

***

In fact, to took John just over ten minutes to get home. He took the stairs quickly, and Sherlock heard him let out a sign of relief when he reached the door into their living room – relief, presumably, at seeing him sitting quietly in his chair.

“Still thinking?” he asked. He was slightly out of breath. Understandable, Sherlock thought; usually, it took him fifteen minutes to get back from the surgery on foot. He must have been walking much faster than usual, and John set a quick pace even when he didn’t have to.

“Still in need of tea,” Sherlock replied without opening his eyes.

“You are bloody impossible,” John muttered, but he stumped into the kitchen regardless and a moment later Sherlock heard the unmistakable rumble of the kettle coming to life.

He opened his eyes and looked up as John came back to hang up his coat. His face was flushed from the walk and the cold; his hair, coat and the bottoms of his trousers were damp. Once his coat was back in its place, he headed for the kitchen again to get out mugs and tea bags.

“What’s this case, then?” he asked over the rising noise of the kettle.

Sherlock stood up and pulled his dressing gown around himself, folding his arms as he went to lean in the doorway between kitchen and living room. John was busy wiping their mugs and didn’t notice him straight away. Sherlock watched as he dropped tea bags into both mugs, then added two teaspoons of sugar to one of them, one heaped and one exactly level. He smiled, and it was at that moment the kettle clicked off and John noticed him.

“Who’s the missing person?” John asked, giving him an expectant look.

“You,” Sherlock said.

John opened his mouth, then closed his again and frowned down at the teas. He picked up the kettle and stared to pour. “You called me back here,” he said, switching from his mug to Sherlock’s, “For the Case of the Missing Flatmate?”

“I’m sure you can think up a snappier title for your website,” Sherlock said dryly. John put the kettle down very deliberately and turned to look at him.

“You can’t keep doing this, you know,” he said, but Sherlock could see the corner of his mouth twitching. He wanted to smile, but he wasn’t allowing it. “I have a job to do, Sherlock – people rely on me –”

“I rely on you,” Sherlock said, momentarily silencing John. “And I do have another case – from Lestrade – but it’s only a five. It wouldn’t have got you here.”

“Sherlock –”

“There’s no need to thank me for rescuing you from the monotony of malingerers and truants using the common cold as an excuse to stay at home and play on their Xbox,” Sherlock said airily before he could get any further. “The tea should have brewed enough by now. Don’t forget the milk.”

He turned and swept back to his chair, John calling after him, “I have to go back to work!”

The fridge door slammed. Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes. “International jewel thieves in Soho, John. Or going back to explain to the practice manager that your family emergency wasn’t actually that serious after all …”

He heard the clatter of a teaspoon circling the insides of two mugs in rapid succession, then John’s footsteps on the floorboards. He opened his eyes to take the proffered mug and winked at John’s resigned expression.

“How did you know I said there was a family emergency?”

“Obvious,” Sherlock replied with a dismissive sigh. “How else could you get the afternoon off at such short notice? Now, the jewel thieves – I know where they are. It was elementary, really. I don’t know how those idiots didn’t see it themselves –”

“Explain it to me,” John said over the lip of his mug.

Sherlock smiled. His audience – the only audience he needed, the only one that mattered – was back where it ought to be, and John wasn’t going back to the surgery today. _Perfect_ , he thought, and started to explain.


End file.
